“Always Look on the Sh*te Side of Life”

Finishing a cup of coffee in my favourite cafe recently, I indulged in a spot of idle people-watching. Well, I was being nosy.... there are those who are, and those who deny it!

This particular day, a conversation between two elderly ladies floated into my peripheral awareness. Settling to enjoy their drinks, I could feel a palpable dip in the energy of the room. Intrigued, I put on my best “ooh, I’m ever so focused on my book” face and tuned in:

Living, Breathing Scowl made the first move, willing and eager to break the ice:

“Isn’t this weather awwwwwwfulllll?” she drawled, milking each syllable for more than it was worth.

“Mmmmmmm”, mumbled her friend; an automatic reflex.

*Tumbleweed*

“Oh... did you hear about the woman in the news... her poor kids” attempted Face Like Thunder again, followed by the classic tut, sigh, tea slurp combo.

“Oh I knoooooow”, The Mumbler mumbled, barely listening but nominally along for the ride. A moment of silent bonding followed, a pause of reflection well earned.

“They say it’ll snow next week...”

Wallowers, thriving in their natural habitat.

Iraqis are top of the class fatalists; boy are they ever, but they get a conditional pass from me. You need to make your peace with the world when it’s being turned upside down as often as it is. Britain’s spin on this? A good moan and grumble. Stoicism grants you safe passage through life, but an old fashioned whinge nudges the emotional door a sliver. Juuuust enough.

As I write this, I’m reminded of walking into a WHSmiths in Watford several years ago.

You know when you think you see something in passing but can’t work out if you made it up? I stepped back a few paces to confirm my suspicions. A whole floor to head height book display labelled ‘Tragic Life Stories’.

TRAGIC.

LIFE.

STORIES.

Incredulity gave way to tangential daydreaming, and the following scenario played out in my head. I won’t be mad if you skip the next bit, I promise! I probably should have myself:

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A:  “What did you get up to today, darling?”

B: “I really fancied a new book; the last one I read was a bit too... a bit too upbeat and life-affirming. So, anyway, I popped into ‘Smith’s and...”

A: “Find anything?”

B: “Yeah, I did! It’s ace: they’ve a whole section of Tragic Life Stories.. what are the chances? Needless to say, I stocked up sharpish. Might see me through the rest of this year!”

A: “WOW, er, yes... good to get in there quick. How enlightened of them. So much better than poxy Waterstones.. you have to sift through all their books to track down anything remotely miserable and heartbreaking. Muppets!” *Indignant sniff*

B: *Rolls eyes knowingly*

A: “DO let me borrow them when you’ve finished, I haven’t had a good mope in ages!”

B: “Of course. I feel so much better knowing others are so much worse off. Puts a real... pep in my step.”

A: “Oh darling, of course it does. How’d we possibly cheer ourselves up otherwise?”

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Sorry/not sorry.

I investigated further. At first glance all the books looked identical; like a Mills and Boon of melancholy (UK-based arcane reference fans, today’s your lucky day!)

If you’ve ever the urge to publish such a book, here’s a handy blueprint. You’re welcome:

• White matte cover

• Sepia picture of a child staring forlornly into the distance; extra bonus points if clutching a well-worn teddy bear with a solitary button eye.

• Italic “handwritten” scrawled title.. “Gone Too Soon” or “A Life Stolen” are solid choices, but you enter the big leagues with a “Daddy Don’t Hurt Me/Why?/Where Are You?/How Could You?/Why Did You Do It?/Why Didn’t You?”.

Emphasise the feckless, reckless dad? Guaranteed insta-blub.

An entire industry: Misery really sells. Trauma voyeurism is obviously quite the thing.

I appreciate some seek solace in such books if they’ve been through the mire themselves; of course they would. But for it to be its own genre, that it could conceivably be that popular just felt all kinds of wrong.

I’ve always been an optimist, so admittedly accumulating negativity doesn’t compute. I’ve experienced enough of the darker side of life, and certainly don’t need to seek out a top up! So much of it however floats in under the radar, and it’s hard work to fend it off.

And it seems it’s always been that way.

My early teenage years were spent in a small flat, where options were limited. At weekends, I could settle into the minuscule wedge-shaped bedroom I shared with my brother, have an extra long bath for a bit of personal space, or sit in the living room. If I chose the latter, my hope that I’d be able to opt for something cheery or rejuvenating on our single TV was frequently dashed.

Instead, we had to bask in the anti-glow of ‘90s-era Casualty, Holby City, Silent Witness.. anything with a bit of death or suffering, or the enticing promise of their arrival.

“It’s real life”, Mum would state disparagingly when I asked her if we could switch to something less drab.

“Bit bleak though, isn’t it?” I’d mutter bitterly, ignoring her look of there-there-smugness! At least we had the good mood transfusion of ‘Songs of Praise’ and the ‘Antiques Road Show’ to turn things around on Sunday evening, reviving flagging spirits….

Now, I’m not suggesting society’s default must be relentlessly positive either; that’d be just as disingenuous. After all, objectively these are harmless, passive ways to extract bottled up emotion. And what’s wrong with that, you might ask?

The trouble is, moods stick. Especially negative ones. Our ancestors necessarily paid more attention to dangerous situations (negative) to survive. Though we’ve largely purged ourselves of the threat of wild animal attack, echoes of that wariness are still encoded within us.

When the media and idle gossip all simmer with strident downbeat energy, it catches. We’re primed to focus on it. You can feel it in the atmosphere as a collective, disconsolate shrug of the shoulders.

A quick scan of the latest headlines in my news feed on the day I wrote this illustrates how inescapable this effect is :

• “Thousands will DIE” in the two day heatwave (panic.. PANIC!!)

• Heat causes dog to maul mother of two (must emphasise that she was a mother... wring that extra drop of emotion out of the reader)

• Gunman opens fire in Marbella

• Meghan made Kate cry in bridesmaids dress row (umpteenth attempt at underhanded racism by a certain U.K. newspaper. Bet you can’t guess which one….)

It’s just grim. If I chose to read that daily, or picked up on in subconsciously, I’d sink. I still battle daily with crippling anxiety, and it’s essential for me to avoid the magnetic pull of negative news because it serves no greater purpose. Those sanctioning the headlines and ramping up the gloom are pretty reprehensible in my book.

Going one step further, it’s the veneration of negativity and individual strife I can’t abide. Over time, they’ve come to be associated with depth and profundity.

Unconvinced? Just look at the clichés of the troubled artist, the obsessive poet driven by demons, or the romantic associations daubed on the “27 club”. I love music with every fibre of my being, but I’d put up with hours of ‘mediocre’ pieces if it meant their composers had contented lives!

Somehow, creative endeavours are judged to be less legitimate if their authors didn’t battle wilfully with personal issues. Perhaps a tortured backstory fulfils the end consumer’s need to be heard, to have their stifled inner struggles reflected publicly? Regardless, the narrative persists.

It also neatly echoes the living pattern many unconsciously follow, certainly in this country anyway: continue unflappably under increasing mental duress, then splurge. Binge drinking, retail therapy, gambling.... this behavioural boom and bust has long been the socially-accepted norm. Celebrated, in fact: if you don’t have a robust vice underpinning your personality, you’re in danger of being dismissed as a priggish bore.

Life is inherently confusing, and it’s by no mean certain that there’s a higher purpose to our existence. We’re simply here against all odds and it’s bewildering, but it’s also impossibly beautiful.

Very few see out their lives unaffected by grief, self-esteem crises or relationship heartache, and temporarily feeling sad or melancholic is entirely natural and cleansing; it allows us to process safely.

The trick is to know when to move on; our ability to navigate and contextualise those bumps in the road is immeasurably important. I feel passionately that this skill should be encouraged and reinforced in schools and universities; all institutes of learning. Why on earth isn’t it?

I’m grateful that in writing this, I do have an outlet, and I value the headspace I’ve cultivated to judge situations objectively. But above all and when all else fails, I make sure I talk to family if I sense I’m succumbing to despair any further than I ought to.

The world is full of potential. If you’re feeling hopeless, a distant voice of optimism might be the last thing you want to hear, I understand. But please, shun the doom mongers and do everything in your power to reach out to those you love, or the incredible people who’ve chosen to listen in their free time, just a phone call away. Your mental well-being cannot wait, and needn’t be pushed aside. The world needs you.

For UK based readers, here’s a list of useful mental health national helplines (correct as of June 2022) posted on the MIND charity web page, should you need it.